“Music is a ghost.” This is a fascinating thought Jill Tracy shares with me as our interview concludes. And she’s onto something. It’s an intangible thing, you can’t touch it, you have to record it to prove it was ever there. It’s a valid point, and the haunting sort of phrase that becomes ensnared in one’s thoughts, to turn over and over in the mind’s web at night, pondering it’s aptness and worth, nibbling to the core of its meaning.

The end of an interview might seem an unusual place to begin. But then again, perhaps not, considering our subject– otherworldly composer, chanteuse, and sonic archeologist, Jill Tracy. After spending an evening in the company of this San Francisco-based singer/pianist and storyteller, and thrilling to her curious passions and strange tales, time-traveling through the delightful highlights of our insightful chat doesn’t seem like a peculiar way to sort it out, after all.

Her darkly erotic, melancholy songs have garnered critical acclaim, and have been featured on Showtime’s Dexter, CBS-TV Navy NCIS, and several feature films. But in recent years, Jill Tracy is also known for traveling to unusual locales to research and compose spontaneous music. This has included a grant project from Philadelphia’s famed Mütter Museum to compose alone amidst glass cases of skeletons and specimens; as well as abandoned buildings in San Francisco’s historical Presidio, a 1700s military base, purported as one of the most haunted locations in the country.

And it is with regard to one of these extraordinary locales that we narrow the focus of our interview. Jill Tracy is currently in the middle of another unprecedented project—”The Secret Music of Lily Dale,” a musical excavation of the mysterious, private town of mediums and Spiritualists in upstate New York. She is recording her singular piano music, channeled at night inside the original 1883 Lily Dale auditorium, site of séances and spirit communication services for over a century. She has captured field recordings from the mystical Leolyn Woods and chilling nighttime rain storms to create an authentic, never-before-heard sonic journey into this strange, little town that talks to the dead. It is my extreme pleasure to share her eerie Lily Dale adventures and uncanny musical insights. Are there ghosts to be found here, of the musical sort, or otherwise? Read on to find out…

Jill Tracy: It really began as part of my live concert. Performing my songs is always such an emotional experience with the crowd to begin with, I thought it would be profound (and challenging) to create a piece of music right before their eyes, have them be a true part of it. They would give me the energy and I would give it right back to them musically. A composition just for us, never existing again outside of that show. It was an intense, moving experience— people would cry, hug me, and say the music transported them to a place “they never realized existed, but needed to go.”

For me, it was revitalizing— the opposite of songwriting, or even film scoring. There was no set intention, structure, rules, limits. It was all about abandon. Being fully alive in a moment. And sadly, how rare this feeling is today in most people’s daily lives. I wanted to be a gatekeeper to that hidden place deep within.

I began conducting entire spontaneous shows, inviting the audience to unusual locations, where the work was created on the spot, never to be heard again. I call these performances “Sonic Séances.” It’s a gorgeous retaliation to today’s incessant pressure to archive everything— at the expense of living it. Why don’t we create a beautiful secret together just for us? Let’s have a solely interior experience! People were thrilled to put away their phones and simply be. From there, I began to travel alone to unusual locations to research, immerse myself completely, and utilize the particular sonic energy of the space to unearth this secret, spontaneous music. These travel projects would be documented. I refer to them as “musical” or “sonic excavations.”

How did the idea to record in Lily Dale germinate?

For years I had been fascinated by Lily Dale, and hoped someday to visit. Through my Sonic Seance work, I became friends with Brandon Hodge, a renowned collector and expert of antique spirit communication devices. His specialty is planchettes; he lives in Austin and operates the great website MysteriousPlanchette.com. When I was touring in Texas back in 2014 or so, we met and spent hours talking, surrounded by his lavish collection of planchettes, rapping hands, and spirit trumpets— we began talking about Lily Dale. Brandon put me in touch with Robert Murch, who is a Ouija board historian and collector. We ended up all being interviewed together that year by Collectors Weekly for a fantastic article by Lisa Hix, “Ghosts in the Machines: The Devices and Daring Mediums That Spoke for the Dead.”

Shortly after that, Lily Dale reached out to have the three of us come and lecture. In phone meetings with Lily Dale’s great librarian Mandi Shepp (Marion H. Skidmore Library,) I found out she was already a fan of my music (already had my albums!) and really loved what I was doing with my musical excavation projects. She invited me to visit as a guest off-season. (Lily Dale fully opens its doors to the public only a few weeks in summer.)

When I asked, “you don’t happen to have a piano there do you?” she unexpectedly replied, “Oh, there’s a grand piano in the old 1883 auditorium…” It was like (excitedly) “ding ding ding!” Jackpot! I knew what Fate wanted me to do…

I was officially invited by the Lily Dale Town Assembly to begin the project this year (2017.) I pretty much booked a plane ticket and traveled there days later! I had no idea what to expect, but I wanted to experience Lily Dale off-season, with no one around except the mediums and Spiritualists who live there. I had to be totally self-sufficient— just me and the gear I needed. I felt like I was living in my own private little ghost town. My first trip was in early May, NOTHING was open. There was not even a place to buy groceries. I did not have a car. I had to hoard up on food and supplies in Buffalo, on my way in from the airport. I stayed in a medium’s home by the lake. Spent many hours in the woods. It was an extremely solitary and introspective time. Very befitting to begin this work..

I feel one must completely tune out to truly tune in.

You said something in an interview with TOR from 2009 that particularly struck me: “Sometimes I feel that magic and the suspension of disbelief is the only thing that matters….” and that “In the end, it is the mystery that prevails, never the explanation.” In the spirit of “honoring the mystery”, how did you mentally/emotionally/spiritually prepare for approach this sonic excavation of Lily Dale?

I love that you picked those quotes! And that particular interview! Thank you. Two of my constant mottoes.

My life’s work has always been about “honoring the mystery,”— the forgotten, those stories and places lost through time …it’s vital to preserve a sense of marvel and wonder now in a world trying its best to destroy, mock, or debunk it. I feel it’s my duty to be a beacon, a tether to these places. And the greatest thing I can do is to transport my audience there with me— just by listening.

Everything around us is vibrating at a particular frequency, A human’s hearing range is approx 20hz to 20,000hz. That’s a really small bit— we’re missing so much! We’ve all been in a room with a dog. and the dog is going nuts and you know something intense is happening, but we can’t hear it! And you think about everything we’re missing, and what is that dog missing outside of its range? It’s frightening to think of experiencing ALL frequencies that are actually happening around us. Does it go beyond time and space? Is there constant inaudible communication from unknown sources? Could we tune in, if only for a second?

There are studies about 18.9-19 hz, that’s just below the range of hearing– sometimes called the “frequency of fear.” We can’t hear it as tonal information, but we sense it. And it affects us secretly.

I am obsessed with Infrasound. These are sounds which occur right below the threshold of human hearing. We don’t register that we hear them, but we are affected internally. There are interesting studies from the UK, regarding people who were all terrified in a particular building, claiming it to be haunted. They measured some machinery down in the basement of the building, and I don’t know if it was from fans or generators, but all the machinery was vibrating just below 19hz. So, are these people really seeing ghosts or are they just reacting to this “frequency of fear”? This frequency is also where the human eyeball vibrates, so could this account for people seeing spirits out of the corner of their eye?

And certainly with musical notes, there are specific notes, certain scales, melodies— and universally, people will say “oh, that sounds scary!” or, “that’s a joyous piece of music!” But these are just frequencies. Music is merely a selection of frequencies played in a pattern. What gives it such power to evoke different emotions? It’s magical, It really is.

When I begin a musical excavation in a new locale, I first like to discover the resonant tones, or close to it. I will go in and explore on the piano to see where I’m getting some kind of activity. And it could just be to my own ears, something that conveys a sudden emotion… does it make something in the room vibrate when I get to a certain place in the keys…does the building make a sound or seem to react? You can find it pretty quickly, where this response is coming from, and then I’ll start to hone in and play in that tonal space to begin. It’s the way in. Think of it like tuning in a radio, connecting with the signal.

The compositions I create in these kinds of projects, are all instrumental spontaneous music. It’s just me, reacting authentically. I can’t prepare anything. It’s not like I sit there with paper, and try to write a piece. That just blocks you, really. I stood in my own way for years with this, because my brain was full of useless noise. I thought— “this is crazy, what am I going to play? I’d better do all this research, sketch it out, have a plan, bring tons of notes,”—and you know what? That’s the worst thing you can do. You’ve already removed yourself from the moment. You’re nowhere near anything real if you clutter your thoughts like that.

You must turn your mind off and become the antennae. Melodies do begin to reveal themselves. They are fragile, living things. Almost like stream of consciousness or automatic writing. These pieces become talismans of actual moments in Time and Place.

I’ve never been to Lily Dale (although in central FL, we do have Cassadaga, a spiritualist community that is somewhat related to Lily Dale and where I make an annual pilgrimage). I’d love to hear your impressions of the place.

The two are related. Lily Dale, NY is on Cassadaga Lake. Spiritualists settled here in the 1800s because it was so picturesque and inspiring. Like a storybook. Woods, lake, even a tiny beach. There are indigenous mute white swans on the lake. I would drink coffee and watch the swans swim outside my window.

But if you just arrived to the tiny town, you might say “This is all there is? This little place??” For me, the power of Lily Dale was what I discovered delving deeper— lurking between the cracks and the quiet. The unseen. it made me tap into a part of myself I wasn’t sure existed before.

On the surface, the town has a very home-spun “Mayberry” quality. For example, the gentleman who runs the museum, Ron Nagy, was kind enough to unlock and open the museum for a private visit, so I could research there off-season. Ron called me and said, “Where are you? I’ll come and pick you up in the truck!” And I replied “ I can probably walk there.” (The entire town is just a few small blocks.) And he said “no, no I’ll come and pick you up.” OK, so then here comes this truck and I’m thinking well, who knows, maybe he’s going to take me outside the grounds or something… but I get in, and he drives to the end of the block, and he says, “…here we are!” I could have walked there quicker than waiting for him, it was so funny.

All the residents were very gracious and welcoming to me. Even as the outsider musician alone in a town of Spiritualists and mediums. The mediums really respected and were fascinated with what I was doing. They would constantly tell me I had mediumistic power, and I learned much in turn from them.

One thing that took me a couple of days to get used to—It was awkward, but then I started to love it— was the idea of “Spirit.” The fact that they believe in an ever-present Spirit, and are constantly getting messages from “the other side.” Spirit is used as plural. You or I might probably say the “Spirit World” or “Spirit Realm”, but Spirit, to the residents of Lily Dale, is akin to the all-knowing power of the Universe. When I first arrived, the medium I was staying with said, “Oh, Spirit told me you would probably love to stay in THIS room.” I thought to myself, “…ok?” And I replied jokingly, “Well, Spirit has good taste!” But then you realize quickly to them this isn’t funny, this is just daily life as a Spiritualist. Those “on the other side” were constantly with us, even blamed for unlocking doors and leaving dimes on the living room carpet. I began to find it enchanting. Much like when you were a child and had an invisible friend who was always with you.

And then there’s the architecture. The eccentric, charming clapboard houses, very Victorian, they look like dollhouses! The proportions are quite strange. They’re small, and often the windows appear too big for the house. The history is that Lily Dale began as a camp with tents, these Spiritualists and free-thinkers wanted to meet and share ideas. But then there was a desire to settle and create an actual town— and it wasn’t like they were able to bring renowned architects in there. So it was essentially the local folks and craftsman building these homes. They would borrow trends of the time— some have Roman columns, and some very classical or Greek looking facades, and then others very Victorian in appearance. So the proportions are all very strange and whimsical.

There are no sidewalks or curbs. So it feels like a movie-set. Everything is all inclusive, open, and connects to everything else. Even without knowing these facts, you subconsciously get a peculiar sense of connection, whether via otherworldly forces or otherwise.

What can you share about the energy in Lily Dale and how it shaped the music you created? How did you begin the process?

When I first walked into the empty 1883 auditorium. I felt enveloped by this energy, like a welcoming fog. Imagine the particles of memory in this place—the site of historical spiritualist gatherings, séances, lectures, for over 100 years! I don’t believe energy ever truly leaves a place, it all becomes collective. Time is non-existent. Susan B. Anthony spoke here, as Lily Dale was very supportive of the Suffragettes and the Women’s Movement. Harry Houdini supposedly walked these grounds in his ongoing hunt for fraudulent mediums. Sherlock Holmes creator Sir Arthur Conan Doyle was a devout Spiritualist— the home I stayed in was actually one of his favorites on his beloved trips to Lily Dale. And now I was here too…

The grand piano sat on the stage — a very old, rare instrument made locally in Buffalo, NY by C. Kurtzmann Company. I was told it was the only piano on record being purchased for the auditorium. I think of all the people who had touched this piano, and sat on this very stage summoning spirits for over a century. I was altering the very dynamic of the place now, adding my imprint just by being there.
I would spend my days doing research and exploring, and then enter the auditorium alone, just before sunset. I had a key, and would lock myself in. I would rarely turn the lights on. I loved playing the piano as the last shards of sunlight cut through the vast room (with about 300 empty seats and massive angular ceiling.) I felt like I was performing for an invisible audience, which slowly faded into complete darkness.

At first I began setting up the microphones as I would do in a professional recording studio, attempting to get a clean, close sound from the piano. But as I began to listen back to the tracks, I became more and more enamored of the tremendous watery echo of the room itself, the hollow sounds of the building, and the birds outside. In fact, I went completely against my original idea, and began setting up mics all over the auditorium, so the piano was set into the scene— instead of trying to disguise or hide the background noises. These textures were so compelling to me, they began to drive the actual work. The environmental and unidentified sounds are as much the orchestration as the music. As you listen, it’s like you’re there WITH me as it happens.

At dusk, the birds would always go crazy, and gather around me in the auditorium— in almost an Alfred Hitchcock-like fashion. It got to where I would sometimes play a melody, and then a BIRD would sing it right back to me! I couldn’t believe it. So there are lovely moments of compositions featuring call-and-response from native Lily Dale birds.

I like to surround myself with significant objects that hold the story of the location. I was given an antique spirit trumpet and also an actual piece of stone from the cottage of the legendary Fox Sisters. (The remains of the cottage, which burned down in 1955, are in Lily Dale.)
I kept them with me on the piano.

Lily Dale dislikes paranormal investigation and does not welcome it on the grounds. As Spiritualists, they believe spirits are everywhere, communicating with the dead is part of daily life— so why disturb our tranquil, private community with noisy crews and electronic gadgets? It seems invasive and pointless to them.

Mine is a more parapsychological approach. It’s not about chasing or “hunting a ghost,” but rather to bask, and gently immerse in the collected energy of the place—be part of it. Allow it to mingle with me as it chooses. My piano is the portal.
I’m fascinated with what I call “sonic residue,” echoes, and impressions that remain in environments, buildings, and objects. For me, uncovering the hidden music within these spaces is the closest thing to time travel or channeling. It’s it own ghost.

I would say every night aloud— as I sat alone inside the auditorium: “ I am going to play some music now. Any spirits here, are welcome to join. Any spirits here, are welcome to make their presence known.” And things do happen.

One night I became very frightened; there was this odd melody appearing in my head— constantly, as I walked the narrow Lily Dale streets, and in the woods. When I was in the auditorium later that night, my mind found it again and automatically started to play it on the piano—a key I’ve never played in— and the building just started to—react. I’ve never gotten scared doing these projects, but I suddenly became terrified— but forced myself to keep going. And it was not an evil-type of feeling, but just pure magic. I knew I had discovered something powerful. Like I had crossed a bridge between worlds. The building wanted this melody to exist. And it was to become part of it.

As the melody progressed, I heard a thunderous crack, thuds, steps, whispering, and I mean— this is late at night, 1am, there is no one around. You’re next to the woods, there’s just nothing. And I had locked myself in. My heart pounded. I kept playing in the dark. I wanted to flee, but I realized as I played the music that this was everything I ever wished would happen. This was absolutely, undeniably real.
You will hear this in the recording. As I listened back days later, I heard things I never recalled experiencing that night. I became unnerved even listening.

“The Secret Music of Lily Dale” pretty much manifested itself into being. I did not expect to create an entire album during my time there. But it’s the kind of album I’ve always wanted to do. Like Erik Satie, Brian Eno, or Harold Budd— it’s got that sort of graceful, eerie ambience. But also this dark classical, cinematic feel, a bit of Pink Floyd, Bernard Herrmann, akin to instrumental pieces I’ve released previously. But— these are all spontaneous!

A sonic souvenir of my nights alone inside that mysterious town beyond the veil.

How do other elements of Lily Dale come across in these pieces?

I did various field recordings. I spent a lot of time in the Leolyn Woods surrounding Lily Dale. There is a gigantic tree that was struck by lightning in the 1800s– and it’s purported to be the most powerful location of energy in Lily Dale. They call it Inspiration Stump. People from all over the world gather at the stump to receive messages from Spirit. I decided to record at that exact spot, capture that experience to tape. What is it like to be all alone, standing at Inspiration Stump— or at night in the woods when there’s absolutely nobody around?

One afternoon, the weather forecast called for a thunderstorm. I went into the old auditorium, and underneath that vast roof, could hear the elegant tinkling of the rain. I got all the mics set up, I heard the first thunder clap—and started recording. I had to be super quiet— so I just ended up lying on my back in the dark, in the middle of the 1883 Lily Dale Spiritualist auditorium, dozing on a little blanket, gazing up at the ceiling, listening to the rain. It was just the most beautiful thing, being alone in this renowned auditorium with over a century’s worth of spirits and seances— all of this history and its echoes enveloping me.

I also recorded Lily Dale’s legendary bell that rings throughout the town to beckon people to the Spiritualist Service— and receive messages from the other side.

Within the amazing collection at the Marion H. Skidmore Library, I uncovered some never-before-heard recordings of old seances and spiritualist services in Lily Dale from the 1930s-40s, and organ music played during the services, and some recordings of mediums talking. They all had that very warm vintage-y, analog quality. So I’m thinking it would be really cool to utilize these sounds wafting in and out of the music.

What can we expect as the culmination of the sonic residue and aural energies you excavated in this mystical town?

“The Secret Music of Lily Dale”, will become an entire album with a lovely book of behind-the-scenes stories and photos— even including unexplained shots of orbs and spirits captured during my work there. I launched a GoFundME campaign to help with travel and manufacturing costs. Backers of the campaign will get the music, and the full collection of recordings and bonus material which will not be available in a public release!

Your donations are vital to help me fund the expenses in creating this project. In addition to the new music and sonic treasures I’ve created here on the grounds, you’ll be getting an actual little piece of the town’s history for your very own! I have partnered with Lily Dale’s Marion H. Skidmore Library, (which houses the largest collection of Spiritualist books in the world) to offer chances to win unique Spiritualist items drawn from their collections—awarded in random drawings to my campaign backers! I’ll even be sending personalized historical cards to you postmarked from the Lily Dale Post Office!

Do you believe in spirits? The ability to communicate with them? Were you changed by your time in Lily Dale?

I approach this project as neither a believer nor non-believer, but expanding my mind to possibility. I do believe in other realms, phenomena, and collective energies far beyond human comprehension. There is so much we don’t know, we can’t even begin to fathom.

Lily Dale certainly transformed me. I experienced many things I can honestly never explain. A medium took me into the woods late at night and taught me to find orbs and fairies. There are the most utterly chilling photos of me at the piano— surrounded by glowing blue orbs, or in the woods, with floating white spirits surrounding me. I stood in the woods late at night, in pitch darkness, and sang different frequencies aloud, which supposedly the fairies are drawn to—and a group of us began to see glowing winged creatures (with our own eyes) emerge from deep in the trees. We all saw them. And were stunned. These were not fireflies or insects. I will never be able to explain these moments, but they were real, and brought me to tears.

Music and sound has always been my bridge between hidden worlds. They are both strangely similar. Music in itself is a ghost. It’s completely intangible. Once a note is played, it vanishes into the air, never to be heard again. I find that simultaneously chilling, inspiring and heart-breaking. The only way we can even hold onto music is to have an archive of it, a recorded version. But the real thing is only played once— and disappears. Where does it go?

The most beautiful questions of all are the ones for which there are no answers.

All photos by Jill Tracy, except:
Jill Tracy composes music inside the Mütter Museum. (Photo by Evi Numen, courtesy Mütter Museum); Unexplained orbs captured in the woods by Jeffrey Kulp, Lily Dale guest— and part of the group accompanying Jill Tracy on a search for spirit phenomena.

***From the archives: This is one of my all-time favorite interviews! Diabolique Editor-in-Chief Kat Ellinger and I dive deep…(Original Oct 2016 post can be found HERE.) ***

“Musical Séance and the Sublime Art of Darkness:”

Resembling the lovechild of H.H. Holmes and a silent era siren, when it comes to dark music there is only one Jill Tracy. As a singer, pianist, and performer, she conjures a timeless netherworld that opens up the portals to forgotten places; nightmarish, magickal, bathed in perpetual twilight. It is not surprising that since her breakthrough album, sophomore effort 1999’s Diabolical Streak (a follow-up to 1996’s Quintessentially Unreal)—which includes morbid classics like Evil Night Together, The Fine Art of Poisoning, and Pulling Your Insides Out—Tracy has gone from strength to strength, gathering worldwide acclaim. Constantly evolving, tirelessly, endlessly, she is a creative force to be reckoned with.

Diabolique caught up with Tracy to talk to her about her origins, her love for the occult, the macabre, her fascination with the otherworldly, and how this fuels her creative canvass. Tracy also shares with us her inspirations, her thoughts on the commodification of music and struggle with being a truly unique independent artist, as well as discussing some of her collaborations and current work with Philadelphia’s Mütter Museum.

Diabolique: How did you start out, and how has your music evolved over time?

Tracy: Strangely, I have come full circle, enamoured with minimalism, and doing solo shows again. That’s how it began, me at a piano—but when I first started out, I felt like it was not enough—I wanted a band. It had to be big! Most of my songs do have a heaviness- a cinematic, dark vibe, and I thought the only way I could achieve this intensity was to have more instruments. (Little did I know.) So the band grew from 3 players up to 11! I affectionately called them “The Malcontent Orchestra.” I’d joke onstage that “in a band of Malcontents you never knew who would show up,” so we had this great revolving cast of rock star guests. Even if the band was only 4 people, we’d call it The Malcontent Orchestra. It was fabulous. But in time, became overwhelming and limiting, not only for me—but rehearsals, travels, schedules, being able to make money. I was producing events, winning awards, but I was miserable. I felt like I had lost myself (and the music) in the din. All the nuances I strive so hard to achieve in my voice and piano were buried. I realized how much I wanted to utilize space and breath between the notes. Textures. The quiet can be rapturous, the most intense thing in the entire arrangement. The soul lives in the silence.

In the past few years, I have been excavating my work down to its essence, to what truly serves the songs, performing often as a trio, duo—or me alone—sharing eerie tales, memoir, scores and songs, manifesting my elegant netherworld. Falling in love with the experience that got me writing music in the first place.

Diabolique: How did you discover your love of the piano?

Tracy: I never wanted to play the piano. I always wanted to sing, but the piano discovered me in a sense. I was a misfit child, felt out-of-sorts with this world (still do.) I always believed there was another place, a magic, hidden realm that one could discover with the proper methods. I tried to build a time machine in my bedroom closet. I thought one could travel through the shadows.

I read about time travel, the belief in other dimensions, spirits, ghosts—I would lecture to my stuffed animals about the solar system and constellations. All I wanted to do was to discover or manifest hidden worlds. I knew they existed. My mission was to figure out how to find them.

I began making frequent visits to an elderly widow who lived next door. Her home was encrusted with bric-a-brac, old photos and dolls—porcelain-painted Siamese cats with jewels for eyes. In the basement was an ancient upright piano, covered entirely in beige and gold-flecked paint. It sat next to the washer and dryer, under buzzing fluorescent lights.

There was something atrocious, yet reverent about this thing. It kept calling me. I knew nothing about the instrument, but I kept venturing next door, poised on the golden bench for hours, letting thoughts and spectres rush through my fingertips, as it transported me far away. (I used to call it “thinking.”)

I didn’t know what I was doing– but didn’t want to do anything else. This became my portal—and still is.

Diabolique: You’ve become synonymous with your elegant, dark style and sound. When did you discover it?

Tracy: Thank you. I love that I am synonymous with my style, which essentially is just ME. I’ve looked like this for years! (laughs) I wouldn’t know any other way.

I’ve always been drawn to the shadowy intrigue of the silent screen era, gypsies and fortune tellers, the occult, and 1970s rock. My style is a collection of passions. I’ve always felt any glamour worth its shimmer has an equally ragged edge.

I did the proverbial running-away to New York City after high school, lived on the third floor of a former coffin factory. All I owned was a mattress on the floor and an old baby grand piano. (This was circa 1990, back when you could still be a struggling artist in NYC.) I used to sit in the wee hours at the candle-lit piano, peering through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows into the streetlights and vacant lot below. I never felt more inspired— or more alone. My music became my spell, my incantation, my catharsis. It was so private to me, in fact, that it was years before I would even let anyone hear it.

Diabolique:Could you tell about some of your musical influences— also could you explain the influence of cinematic music on your overall sound?

Tracy: I have always been drawn to the mysterious—fantastical, otherworldly imagery. Worlds sans-time. I’m obsessed with Alfred Hitchcock, Bernard Herrmann, Ray Bradbury, Rod Serling, Jean Cocteau. Through classic cinema, film noir, and Serling’s The Twilight Zone, I was captivated by the glorious mystery, elegance, and succinct, yet smart storytelling. Often it was what you didn’t see that really put the fear in you. Not to mention the dreamlike, sensual look to the films, dangerous romance, unsettling camera angles, surreal lighting and shadows.

I used to stay up all night as a kid, watching old horror movies on Chiller Theater. I’d often turn the volume down on the TV and make up my own music. We had an old Hammond organ in the house. I learned that MUSIC conjured the emotional response. The music held all the power.

What was it about certain notes or scales? Why does a certain scale make us feel scared, aroused, and then another scale or chord is joyful? Is it simply mathematics, conditioning, or something visceral? Magical?

Composer Bernard Herrmann tells the tale of how Hitchcock originally wanted silence during the infamous Psycho shower scene! Can you even imagine it today without the trademark shrieking violins? That’s a vital part of what makes that scene so memorable. And those violins alone evoke fear and violence whenever we hear them.

The rock bands that first inspired me had the same beautiful sense of mystique and grace—Pink Floyd, David Bowie, early Peter Gabriel, Japan, The Cure. Even listening to Led Zeppelin, Black Sabbath, early Genesis— there was something majestic—and timeless. These artists were well read, and made us want to pull books off the shelves. I learned about Aleister Crowley from listening to Bowie, learned about Nabokov from The Police. This sense of grace, mastery, and sophistication is sadly lacking today.

I realized back then I wanted to create work that was timeless and singular.

Late night New York City alleyways during filming of the music video “Pulling Your Insides Out.”
Photo by Jeremy Carr

Diabolique:Could you explain the ideas behind your lyrical content?

Tracy: My work is about honoring the mystery, the forgotten, that beautiful allure of the darkness, the stories lost in Time, the ecstasy of melancholy—La Douleur Exquise “the exquisite pain.”

I often focus on the struggle of being yourself in a world that is trying its hardest to turn you into everybody else. Staying true to yourself; that’s the hardest and most glorious battle of all.

Diabolique:How do you combine aspects of performance and music for your live act? What could people expect at one of your shows?

Tracy: With environment and story playing such a role, I love to design events curious to the venue. I created an ongoing after-dark series at the wondrous San Francisco Conservatory of Flowers where I hosted night tours of the gardens and performed music. I curated each evening on a different intriguing theme— like the strange history of perfumes, poisonous plants and the arsenic craze, spirits that supposedly lived in various woods of violins.

I spent weeks researching and exploring the abandoned (and supposedly haunted) historical buildings of The Presidio (dating back to 1776), composed music based on my findings— then presented an evening inside the Officers Club Ballroom. I worked with the historical librarian to uncover almost 100 gorgeous archival photos which I projected behind me—early 1900s abandoned psychiatric ward, morgue and hospital wards, as I revealed their tales. The best part was performing the very piece of music I composed inside, on a 1903 Steinway grand, inspired by the centuries-old legend of the lady ghost who is often seen dancing in that very space.

That’s the magic music allows—like a trap door or portal, it transports us—to a place we never knew existed, but wish to go. I am a gatekeeper of emotions. My favorite thing is to be able to take an audience to that place with me.

Diabolique:How does composing music in unusual locations, or via strange objects, as in your Musical Séances, differ from writing songs?

Tracy: When I am writing songs, I’m emotionally connected and in charge. I’m masterful of every word, creak in my voice, arrangement, breath between the notes. It’s purposeful. There is a destination.

When I channel music, it’s the complete opposite, I have to surrender. I am the conduit, a passenger. I have NO idea where I am going. That is both the thrill and the challenge.

I’ve learned to compose spontaneously via various energy sources, whether found objects, environments, etc. I am clairaudient, so I often hear unexplained music and voices.

The Musical Séance is a live travelling show, my long-time collaboration with violinist Paul Mercer. It’s a collective summoning driven by beloved objects the audience brings with them. Items of personal significance—such as a photo, talisman, jewelry, toy. This is a very crucial part of manifesting the music. Every object holds its story, its spirit— energy, resonance, impressions from anyone who has ever held the object, to the experiences and emotions passed through it.

These compositions are delicate living things. They materialize, transport, and in the same second—they vanish. That’s the amazing thing about The Musical Seance—you never know what to expect, and each experience is entirely different, extremely emotional, for us, as well as the audience. It creates this rare synergy with everyone in the entire room.

It’s the closest thing to time travel.

Often, the curiosities themselves are just as compelling as the music they inspire. We’ve encountered everything from cremated cats, dentures, haunted paintings, 16th century swords, antlers, x-rays, gingerbread man, a lock of hair from a drowned boy.

But one thing I’ve learned is—everyone in the world has a story to tell that will break your heart.

Some of my favorite collaborative moments: When famed author Lemony Snicket (Daniel Handler) and I performed a concert as a piano/accordion duo to celebrate the 100th anniversary of Fantômas, the beloved French pulp “Lord of Terror.” We played our hilarious, spine-tingling version of the original “Ballad of Fantômas” with all 26 verses!

I got to share the stage with legendary Doors’ keyboardist Ray Manzarek while we played keyboards, and discussed how literature influenced our music.

I acted in several seasons of classic Grand Guignol with renowned troupe Thrillpeddlers—dying onstage in all sorts of violent ways: plunging off a balcony while singing Tosca, being hypnotized by a mad scientist, killed in a violent train crash, torn apart by a savage wolf boy!

Allowing yourself to be terrified and scream onstage in front of an audience is profoundly liberating and cathartic.

Diabolique:Your act is often described as dark cabaret, would you agree with the label, and what does the term mean to you? How would you describe your work within the context of “Gothic”?

Tracy: All these terms are annoying. They negate the artist, to serve the marketing—and constantly spun around in a blender. We must now cram everything in watered-down boxes to sell it to the unknowing herd.

Someone asked me the other day—“do you strive to be more dark cabaret, noir jazz, or witch rock?” I wanted to strangle them! (laughs) Keep in mind my first release was in 1995 (with an EP before that), long before these terms or this type of mindset-marketing existed. Hell, I just write what I feel. There is never a pre-conceived “box.”

The sad thing is this hyper-branding ruins the impact, the poignancy, the meaning of a piece of art on its own terms. To merely slap it with a label is ignoring it. But hey, this is about business, not art, they tell you. Hello Internet.

That’s why, sadly, art has less meaning in people’s lives. When I was growing up, that’s how you bonded with someone. (Certainly if you were an outlier.) What bands do you listen to? What books are you reading? What are your favorite films?

Now, it’s what phone do you have? What apps? How many Facebook friends do you have? Tech has become the barometer.

This constant commodification is ruining culture in general. It’s ruined so much of what music is, and what impact it had on your life. Music was expression. It could be dangerous, subversive, it STOOD for something. If you saw someone from across the room with a Gang of 4 t-shirt, you knew they were a kindred spirit. There would be that constant, crazed search for your favorite band photos, t-shirt or buttons in the back of magazines, or at an obscure record store. You had to put effort into the quest! It meant something! Now it’s pointless stock at at Hot Topic or Target.

I saw a guy in LA recently wearing a Nirvana t-shirt. I asked him about Kurt Cobain, he said he did not know who that was.

I’ve read comments on my own music videos that say “I really like this music, but don’t know what this style is called, it’s so unique, so I’m not sure if I can like it or not.” How sad we now need PERMISSION to think for ourselves. Be brave enough to form your own opinions! To create whatever you wish to create. If anything, that is my message, the entire point of my career: Embrace your strange, live your life brazenly and unapologetically. Honor your distinct vision amidst the struggle, the stupidity, the naysayers, and the corporate brainwashing. There has never been a more vital time to escape the cage.

Jill Tracy portrait by Audrey Penven

Diabolique:Tell us about some of the ways in which your music has made it into film and television.

Tracy: My first major placement was an NBC-TV newsmagazine segment about absinthe (late 1990s when it was still illegal and taboo.) They used my music, with Erik Satie, plus Nine Inch Nails and Marilyn Manson while you saw visuals of Oscar Wilde, Baudelaire, and Van Gogh cutting off his ear in an absinthe stupor! (laughs.) I felt like I had arrived in grand company.

My songs and instrumentals have been in several independent and feature films. I did the end title song for Jeremy Carr’s brilliant new thriller Other Madnesses, which has won several awards. Plus— PBS, the CBS hit show Navy NCIS featured my songs as themes for sultry goth forensic scientist Abby Sciuto (Pauley Perrette.) And Showtime used my track “Evil Night Together” as the Final Symphony—the ad campaign to promote the wildly-anticipated final season of Dexter.

I would love to do more scores and songs for film/TV.

Diabolique:Where do you find inspiration?

Tracy: It’s never any one thing specifically; that’s the beauty of it, the sheer randomness. There’s that great Leonard Cohen quote—”If I knew where the good songs came from, I’d go there more often.”

For me, it’s more of a sensory response to the immediate; a word or phrase, an image, a story, a mood, a fragrance, textures, colors, the allure of the unknown, the forbidden, anything that enables me to ‘slip into the cracks” and get out of this world for a while. It’s the grand escape hatch.

And even though I’m holding the reins, I never know where it will take me. I simply trust that I can hold on with all my might, and see it through to the other side. That’s the place where all songs live.

Diabolique:So far what would you consider your biggest achievement?

Tracy: One of my greatest pleasures of late has been immersing myself alone in unusual locations, or a place with a strange story, and composing music as a reaction to that environment. The intense purity and immediacy is so exciting. You are hearing my raw emotional response at the piano.

I’ve found myself conjuring the hidden score in decrepit gardens and cemeteries, on the antique Steinways of the (supposedly haunted) Victoria B.C. 1890 Craigdarroch Castle, an 1800s San Francisco medical asylum, abandoned buildings inside the famed 1776 Presidio military base, and the Los Angeles mansion of a 19th century murderer.

The lovely and difficult thing about this work is that I can’t prepare for it, as I never know what to expect. I must allow myself to be completely vulnerable; simply feel, and react. It’s not about me anymore; it’s about the music, the story. It becomes so much bigger than any of us.

My huge dream-come-true is that I am first musician in history to ever be awarded a grant from Philadelphia’s famed Mütter Museum, to create a series of work inspired by its spellbinding collection of medical oddities. I spent nights alone at a piano amidst the Mütter’s grotesque cabinet of curiosities, which includes the death cast and conjoined liver of original Siamese twins Chang and Eng, the skeleton of the Harry Eastlack “the Ossified Man,” Einstein’s brain, The American Giant, books bound in human skin, and the Mermaid Baby. It was vital for me to be in the presence of these long-lost souls, as I composed and recorded. They become an actual part of the work and not just the subject matter. I began this project in 2012, with subsequent visits, and have become totally caught up in the research! What began as a single music album, has transformed into the idea of a full-blown book/memoir project with music and visuals. Excited to finally get back to it.

Diabolique:If you could work with anyone past and present, who would it be?

Tracy: I’d love to have jammed with Led Zeppelin’s drummer John Bonham. Actually Jimmy Page (guitar) and John Paul Jones (bass) are all such phenomenal musicians, I would adore the opportunity to play with them. As well as the members of Pink Floyd. What a dream to be in the studio with David Gilmour! I would love to have Thom Yorke and Nigel Godrich (Radiohead) produce an album with me, and create that huge, heartbreaking soar of gloom and elegance.

I wish I could have sung a duet with David Bowie. I have not recovered from my sadness and depression over his death.

Diabolique: Where can we follow you on social media?

Tracy: Here are the links! Follow me for ongoing adventures in the netherworld…

Composer and sonic archeologist Jill Tracy has begun an unprecedented project—a musical excavation of mysterious Lily Dale, the famed private town of mediums and Spiritualists in upstate New York. She is recording her singular piano music channeled at night inside the original 1883 auditorium, site of séances and spirit communication services for over a century. She has captured field recordings from the mystical Leolyn Woods to chilling nighttime rainstorms to create an authentic, never-before-heard sonic journey. Donate and get a rare glimpse into this strange, little town that talks to the dead…

“Jill Tracy is utterly intriguing. She transports you into a magical world solely of her creation.”
NPR, ALL THINGS CONSIDERED

“Jill Tracy is the Queen of taking her listeners into another realm.”
SAN FRANCISCO CHRONICLE

**UPDATE: AUGUST 2017!**
I have returned to Lily Dale for more research and recording! I want to thank all of YOU immensely for helping to fund the initial trip, enabling this project to even exist. I am honored by your level of trust in my work—and to the Lily Dale Assembly for inviting me to do this. Such a rare opportunity.
I was so consumed on my first trip with the tales and energy— that recordings already exist for a full album of music— channeled on Lily Dale’s antique piano. It’s truly beautiful. So, I can officially announce that everyone who donates will get the complete collection of my Lily Dale piano music and field recordings, plus their name in the credits! If we can get closer to the goal, I will launch bonus rewards, so donate now to allow this to happen! (And we’ll see what else I unearth from here on out..) I really adore being here.

Read on for the whole fascinating story, and I answer your questions about the project:

What’s it like inside this peculiar place called Lily Dale?

I have been fascinated with Lily Dale for years, and beyond thrilled to have been invited to research, live amongst the mediums, and compose music on the piano inside the 1883 grand auditorium (pictured below)— the site of many poignant spiritualist gatherings, spirit communication services, and lectures. Susan B. Anthony spoke during the Women’s Suffrage Movement. Harry Houdini walked these grounds. (Did you know Sir Arthur Conan Doyle was a devoted Spiritualist? Mae West too.)

It’s an honor and inspiration to be blessed with this opportunity, but I need your help! Plus the thought of taking you along on the journey makes it even more alluring.
Come with me for a backstage pass beyond the veil.Rare and strange discoveries await us both…

My invitation came unexpectedly (like most magical things do) so I am scrambling to prepare. I want to inhabit Lily Dale during its off-season, with no visitors, to experience the town authentically. And be able to work at the piano alone in the auditorium, wander and conduct field recordings in the mystical Leolyn Woods (a sight of supposed strong spirit activity.)
I will be living in the home of an actual medium on the lake!

I cannot bring a crew with me, so I must be completely self-contained with video, recording gear, software, and accessories. I must buy things. I have travel expenses. This is where YOU come in! To show my appreciation, I’ll send you secret behind-the-scenes photos, odd historical tales from the archives, videos, interviews, updates, recordings, and musical works in progress.

You’ll peer into the entire process and accompany me on my explorations…

DETAILS:

What is Lily Dale?

Lily Dale is a private village on small, placid Cassadaga Lake founded when the Spiritualist movement, began in 1848 in central New York State.
In the middle of nowhere, mediums, some of them fourth or fifth generation, live in quaint clapboard houses. The village, on 167 wooded acres, has about 100 year-round residents— ALL of them Mediums and Spiritualists. This means a belief that spirits are able to communicate with the living by agency of a medium. … Adherents of spiritualistic movements believe that the spirits of the dead survive mortal life, and that sentient beings from spiritual worlds can and do communicate with the living.

Definitions from the National Spiritualist Association of Churches:
A Medium is one whose organism is sensitive to vibrations from the spirit world and through whose instrumentality, intelligences in that world are able to convey messages and produce the phenomena of Spiritualism. (1914)

Spiritualism is the Science, Philosophy and Religion of continuous life, based upon the demonstrated fact of communication, by means of mediumship, with those who live in the Spirit World. (1919)

What will you do there? And why?

My work has always been about honoring the Mystery, the hidden worlds that lurk all around us. My piano is my portal. Frequencies, resonant tones, music, and sound have long been used in psychic communication. Music (which is merely a collection of selected frequencies) is a bridge to realms we may never fully comprehend or master— but they surround us. I’m fascinated with what I call “sonic residue,” echoes, and impressions that remain in environments, buildings and objects. Much like a ghost. For me, uncovering the hidden music within these spaces is the closest thing to time travel or channeling. The thought of being alone at the piano in the Lily Dale auditorium, playing pieces that were once performed during actual spiritualism services and séances is chilling. I plan to set up a series of microphones to capture the ambience, the room— the aural energy of being inside this place is as intense as the music I uncover.

I will be working with the great folks at Lily Dale’s Marion H. Skidmore Library, which houses the largest collection of Spiritualist books in the world. They have been saving rare 1800s Spiritualist sheet music and audio-related materials for me for over a year! Much never-before-seen. So I will be spending a lot of time in the stacks. I plan to conduct interviews with historians and those who communicate with the dead—and even experience readings myself from the mediums, and attend mediumship workshops.
I approach this project as neither a believer nor non-believer, but open in expanding my mind to possibility. I do believe in other realms and energies far beyond human comprehension. There is so much we don’t know.

Why should I donate?

Your donations make this project exist. The closer I can get to the goal and beyond means I get more accomplished during my stays in Lily Dale to create new art, music, and content I am proud to share with you.

NOTE: I am paid NO money for these research trips, make no other income during the time invested — and still responsible for my monthly bills and living expenses during my travels. It’s a tough constant slog for artists and researchers— countless hours unpaid, but the process is the most vital part of the creation!
Knowing you value my work and efforts means the world to me.

Please remember that this equipment is not “one-use only,” but an investment enabling me to continue and expand my work ongoing. My future goal would be to use this material to finally launch my web series of strange, sonic explorations, which could also be edited into a podcast with interviews and stories, as well as releasing the Lily Dale music! This experience could also become a memoir, lecture/ live concert event. Ahhh, think of all the spellbinding possibilities!

Your contribution is the launchpad.

I am driven to do this project now, and celebrate these enchanting, hidden gems while they still exist. Lily Dale is such a place. There is belief and beauty here, a welcome respite from the current state of much of the world. It’s important to acknowledge this.I embark on this project with the utmost respect.
I hope you will come with me… Here’s the official LINK.

JT: Yes, I write both the lyrics and music. Although the music always comes first for me. That’s the “way in.” The vocal melody will reveal itself early on, then words begin to emerge. I am a meticulous wordsmith to a fault. Some songs lay frozen in notebooks for years because I was never happy with one particular line. But then the perfect line may come to me, pop in my head, at a random time. The process of letting it go will often bring it back to you.

As far as what inspires—it’s never any one thing specifically; that’s the beauty of it, the sheer randomness. It’s more of a sensory response to the immediate; a word or phrase, an image, a story, a mood, a fragrance, textures, colors, the allure of the unknown, the forbidden, anything that enables me to ‘slip into the cracks.’ It’s a process of being alive in that place, allowing the flame. My music is like a portal, a transport into another realm. When I write, I’m conjuring a magic place, getting out of this world for a while. It’s the grand escape hatch.

HA: What singers or bands inspired you growing up?

JT: As far as bands go—most definitely Pink Floyd. They captured that cinematic mood, that dark, mournful beautiful devastation that transported you completely.
Also Led Zeppelin, The Cure, David Bowie, T. Rex, early Elton John, The Doors, Japan, later period Talk Talk, The Pretenders, Gang of 4, Psychedelic Furs, The Cult, Roxy Music, The Who, early Peter Gabriel, old Moody Blues, early Aerosmith and Black Sabbath, ahhh, so many!
It was only after I began performing live that I became acquainted with more of the classical composers, oddly enough because I was always getting compared to them. My very first-ever review in the 1990s (Bay Guardian) described me as “Erik Satie meets The Cure.” And later it was a fan who compared my mysticism to Alexander Scriabin. I am forever honored that my work is resonating with people in that realm.

HA:When did you first know you wanted to be a musician and how did you start out?

JT: I have always been drawn to the mysterious— fantastical, otherworldly imagery. Worlds sans-time. I was obsessed with Alfred Hitchcock, Bernard Herrmann, Ray Bradbury, Rod Serling, Jean Cocteau. As a child, I tried to build a time machine in my bedroom closet. I thought one could travel through the shadows. I just wanted to live in those worlds.

I read about time travel, the belief in other dimensions, spirits, ghosts—I would lecture to my stuffed animals about the solar system and constellations. All I wanted to do was to discover or manifest hidden worlds. I knew they existed. My mission was to figure out how to find them.

I began making frequent visits to an elderly widow who lived next door. Her home was encrusted with bric-a-brac, old photos and dolls—porcelain-painted Siamese cats with jewels for eyes. In the basement was an ancient upright piano, covered entirely in beige and gold-flecked paint. It sat next to the washer and dryer, under buzzing fluorescent lights.
There was something atrocious, yet reverent about this thing. It kept calling me. I knew nothing about the instrument, but I kept venturing next door, poised on the golden bench for hours, letting thoughts and spectres rush through my fingertips, as it transported me far away. I didn’t know what I was doing– but didn’t want to do anything else. This became my portal. It still is.

To this day, I don’t read or write music, it’s all intuited.

HA:Can you tell us about your Musical Seance work?

JT: I’ve learned to channel music spontaneously via various energy sources, whether found objects, environments, etc. The Musical Séance is a live travelling show, my long-time collaboration with violinist Paul Mercer. It’s a collective summoning driven by beloved objects the audience brings with them. Items of personal significance—such as a photo, talisman, jewelry, toy. This is a very crucial part of manifesting the music. Every object holds its story, its spirit— energy, resonance, impressions from anyone who has ever held the object, to the experiences and emotions passed through it.

These compositions are delicate living things. They materialize, transport, and in the same second— they vanish. That’s the amazing thing about The Musical Seance— you never know what to expect, and each experience is entirely different, extremely emotional, for us, as well as the audience. It creates this rare synergy with everyone in the entire room.

Often, the curiosities themselves are just as compelling as the music they inspire. We’ve encountered everything from cremated cats, dentures, haunted paintings, 16th century swords, antlers, x-rays, gingerbread man, a lock of hair from a drowned boy.

But one thing I’ve learned is––everyone in the world has a story to tell that will break your heart.

(Photo by Neil Girling)

HA:What is “clairaudience?”

JT: It literally translates in “clear-hearing.” As with clairvoyance, which means “clear-vision,” being clairaudient means the ability to hear things not of this world. I have always heard strange unexplained music. Often heavy and harsh, but compellingly exquisite, alluring, complex. I can’t even begin to describe it! It maddens me that there is no way that I could ever harness it to compose or record. It’s beyond anyone’s grasp. For the past few years, I have begun to hear people’s voices talking, it’s usually very urgent and fast, like they need to relay a message. I do believe in simultaneous realms, and that we have the ability to share a frequency, be an antenna, if sometimes only for a second. It’s a mingling of Time.

I’m learning more about harnessing this gift, it plays such a key role in my ability to find hidden musical scores when I compose in unusual locales. I used to be leary of it, but now find it strangely comforting.

HA:What non-musical things inspire your music? Is there a place where you go to be inspired?

JT: It’s really about finding the quiet, so I can be fully receptive, like an antenna as I mentioned before. The Soul lives in the silence. You must be able to tune out to to truly tune in.

Unfortunately, these days of on-demand, constant world-at-our-fingertips connection has destroyed our sense of mystery and childlike wonder. That breaks my heart. Monsters, marvels, lore, and legend—these are the things that make us feel most alive. Now there is so much constant NOISE—we think it enriches us, adds something, but really it is soul-stifling. We’ve lost our own identities inside the din.

The Internet is a blessing and a curse. The ease to obtain information and connect with the world is glorious. But at the same time it’s destroying our individuality. Everyone is getting their news/views from the same sources and absurd algorithms, not looking outside, or challenging themselves to think further. We’re trapped in a giant echo chamber. There has never been a greater need to venture outside the cage, to seize our truth and authenticity.
To be an individual now takes a great deal of effort. But so vital!

HA:What’s been your favorite achievement so far?

JT: My life’s work is about honoring the mystery…One of my greatest pleasures of late has been immersing myself alone in unusual locations, or a place with a strange story, and composing music as a reaction to that environment. The intense purity and immediacy is so exciting. You are hearing my raw emotional response at the piano.

I’ve found myself conjuring the hidden score in decrepit gardens and cemeteries, on the antique Steinways of the (supposedly haunted) Victoria B.C. 1890 Craigdarroch Castle, an abandoned 1800s San Francisco medical asylum, and the Los Angeles mansion of a 19th century murderer.

The lovely and difficult thing about this work is that I can’t prepare for it, as I never know what to expect. I must allow myself to be completely vulnerable; simply feel, and react. It’s not about me anymore; it’s about the music, the story. It becomes so much bigger than any of us. That’s the beauty of it.

My huge dream-come-true is that I am first musician in history to ever be awarded a grant from Philadelphia’s famed Mütter Museum, to create a series of work inspired by its spellbinding collection of medical oddities. I spent nights alone at a piano amidst the Mütter’s grotesque cabinet of curiosities, which includes the death cast and conjoined liver of original Siamese twins Chang and Eng, the skeleton of the Harry Eastlack “the Ossified Man,” Einstein’s brain, The American Giant, books bound in human skin, and the Mermaid Baby. It was vital for me to be in the presence of these long-lost souls, as I composed and recorded. They become an actual part of the work and not just the subject matter.

The project will include not only a music album based on the Mütter collection, but also an art book and memoir of my chilling experiences inside the museum after dark.
All of my work will be factual. I’m done extensive research at the museum, even utilizing excerpts from letters and doctors’ records. I began this project in 2012, and have become completely swept up in the research!

JT: This is a great question! People always ask me if I got scared inside the Mütter Museum alone in the dark, or if I get frightened when channeling music in a cemetery, asylum, etc. The answer is no. I am completely immersed in that moment— it is a feeling of hyper-realism. Being fully alive. Super-charged.
It’s that same feeling when I’ve acted in classic Grand Guignol plays (famed Paris Horror Theatre 1897-1962.) Letting yourself be completely terrified onstage is a strange, exhilarating catharsis. Screaming at the top of your lungs in front of an audience is profoundly liberating.

I’ve died onstage in many bizarre ways: Torn apart by a savage wolf boy, killed in a violent train crash, leapt off a balcony to my death, hypnotized by a mad scientist, locked in a castle tower with a demon, etc— The underlying thing is you know in your soul, underneath the fake blood and the layers of prosthetics and costumes, that you are going to be okay.

BUT—I have been in some quite scary REAL-LIFE situations. I was in a near plane crash, as the airplane’s brakes went out. We had to prepare for an emergency landing on a foam-covered runway, hoping to slow down the plane. We had to remove all jewelry, belts, sharp objects, hold a pillow over our head, eyes closed, as we bent over our lap awaiting possible impact. I remember passengers screaming and sobbing.

I was also mugged at knifepoint in a New York City subway alone at night. I instinctively ran after the mugger shouting within the empty concrete labyrinth. As I rounded a corner, he grabbed me.
I was almost kidnapped in Paris by a strange man with pink hair and his two accomplices who locked me in the back room of a restaurant.

I have discovered 3 dead bodies in my lifetime, in 3 different situations.
In the midst of this real terror, your brain locks into that fight or flight mode— no time to feel afraid, you just do what you need to to think clearly and get through it!

HA:What are your favorite horror movies?

JT: I prefer the chilling, classic psychological horror, over the slasher-gore fest. For me, it’s all about the story, getting drawn in, and the fear of the unknown. (Our imagination is truly the scariest component of it all.) There are many great movies, but these come to mind:
Eyes Without A Face (1960), The Birds (1963), Rosemary’s Baby (1968)—also Mia Farrow in the great lesser-known thriller The Haunting of Julia (1977), Invasion of the Body Snatchers (original 1956), Mad Love (with Peter Lorre 1935), The Sentinel (1977), The Shining (1980).

HA:What are you working on now?

JT: I’m currently writing — resuming work on the Mütter Museum book and music project, as well as other new songs. I just began a lovely hibernation from live gigs to focus on creating again. I am also designing what will be a subscription-only series called The Noctuary (inspired by my love and lore of the Night,) which will feature exclusive music, videos, stories, private concerts, behind-the-scenes interviews, and more for subscribers only. I am excited to reveal the details!
Please sign up to my inner email circle at JILLTRACY.com and you’ll be first to be invited to join The Noctuary!

JT: I have 5 full length albums, plus various film scores, and singles, even a Christmas album— my dark classical interpretation of some of the more haunting old carols. Definitely the holiday collection for people who prefer The Dark Season.
As an intro to my work, I would start with albums The Bittersweet Constrain and Diabolical Streak.

HA: What is the website they can find it on?

JT: JILLTRACY.com is best.
I offer some exclusive titles on my site unavailable on iTunes, Amazon, and other corporate shops. Plus no middlemen taking money for nothing.

HA:What is the best social media site for listeners to connect with you?

Jill Tracy talks with Film Noir Foundation’s Eddie Muller about the allure of the dark side, the arsenic craze, spending the night with skeletons, and the horrors of the entertainment industry

Jill Tracy’s album Diabolical Streak was suggested to me because of my predilection for all things noir. It became an essential part of the musical backdrop to my writing Dark City Dames: The Wicked Women of Film Noir. Jill Tracy finds a compelling sensuality in everything, from the promise of one wicked night to the fiery end of the world. Her breathy vocals entice the listener into a sonic dreamscape—a dark and magical realm, simultaneously cerebral, sexy and sinister. It’s not safe here, but you won’t be in any hurry to leave. Beneath the force and filigree of Tracy’s original piano lines lurks cold steel—the woman has guts to spare, creating something so distinctive amidst the corporate musical mediocrity that’s poisoning the culture.San Francisco Chronicle hails Jill Tracy “a femme fatale for the thinking man.”LA Weekly has christened her “the cult darling of the Underworld.”

One of the cuts from Diabolical Streak, “Evil Night Together” was chosen by Showtime Networks as the “final symphony” to promote the highly anticipated last season of Dexter. Her music has been featured on NPR, CBS-TV Navy NCIS, and numerous independent films.

During the first two years of Noir City at San Francisco’s Castro Theatre, I asked Jill Tracy to provide musical interludes and introduce films at several screenings. She has also performed twice at LA Noir at the Egyptian Theater. Both of us were seeking fresh ways to expand our work—a constant challenge for independent artists in any medium. Recently I caught up with Jill Tracy again, and we discussed the obstacles, and inspirations, that writers and musicians share—as well as the beauty that forever lurks in the shadows. —Eddie Muller

Eddie Muller: Would you still make music if you couldn’t reach an audience?

Jill Tracy: Music has always been my catharsis. So yes, absolutely I would. I create my best music where there’s no audience.

EM: Don’t you need an audience to validate what you do? I ask myself: Would I still write if I knew I wasn’t reaching many readers?

JT: It depends on one’s intentions. I would always create music, regardless. But having people respond to what you do does elevate it to a different level. It’s odd, but when I perform a song for the first time in front of an audience, a little death happens. It’s not mine anymore. It’s sad, in a way.

EM: Do you get over that? You must.

JT: Yeah, because you’ve got to perform it again the next night! [Laughs] But your personal attachment is gone. Songs arise from emotions, experiences, moods and dreams. Playing it alone for myself, I can revisit that place—it’s an actual souvenir of Time. Playing in front of an audience takes that away.

EM: Isn’t the point to turn it loose?

JT: Depends. Some songs I’ll never perform live because I don’t want to turn them loose. They’re a tonic for me. I go back and spend time in that song, and I don’t want to share that experience with anyone.

EM: There are songs you’ve written that nobody’s heard?

JT: Oh, yeah.

EM: I couldn’t imagine writing a story—

JT: Isn’t it like keeping journal entries?

EM: I don’t keep a journal. No. To me, someone reading the story completes the creative process. But I’ve talked with painters, for example, who only show their work grudgingly. “I didn’t paint this to be seen, I painted it because I had to.”

(Jill Tracy photographed by noir photography master Jim Ferreira)

JT: You’re vulnerable when someone hears your song for the first time. You’re disrobing for the crowd. But you’re right, it does eventually make that lovely transition into something else. I give it to THEM. And the beautiful thing is—often they need the song more than I do. I’m constantly moved and shocked by the amount of mail I receive where someone tells me my music was the only thing helping them through a rough time, or it was because of a certain song of mine that saved them from committing suicide. Often fans will come up to me at shows with tears in their eyes, just wanting me to hug them. It’s such a poignant and rare connection, I wouldn’t trade that for anything.

EM: Music affects people so immediately. No one reacts to a book the way they react to music. As a writer, that makes me envious. [Laughs]. It takes so much time to produce a novel, and to read it. Music plugs in directly.

JT: Yes, music is a living thing, captured immediacy—and the strange, intoxicating intimacy with a crowd. But I envy artists who can hang their work on a wall and step away from it. They can see others react to it. I can’t watch myself perform, or watch others watching me perform. I’m in it. It’s intangible. The moment the song is out in the atmosphere, it vanishes.

EM: That’s why you make records! Isn’t it gratifying to know you can get into somebody’s head like that? When someone tells me, “I read your book straight through,” that’s so satisfying. You must feel the same thrill when you know people play your album over and over again, that it has that impact on them.

JT: That’s my goal, to create music that transports them into another world, and allows them to linger there. I am a gatekeeper of emotions…There’s nothing more powerful than that. That’s the magic music allows—like a trap door or portal, it accompanies us—to a place we never knew existed, but wish to go. Similar to when I read your novel. I was ill with the flu. I was in bed. It was fantastic, because I was able to get out of my miserable head and live in your world for a while.

EM: Diabolical Streak was more like stepping into a novel or a film than it was like listening to a collection of songs. It’s like, “Oooh, this is a place she’s created.”

JT: The kingdom of the mind’s eye.

(Stormy late nights in New York City: shooting the music video “Pulling Your Insides Out)

EM: How influenced were you by cinema?

JT: I have always been drawn to the mysterious— fantastical, otherworldly imagery. Worlds sans-time. I was obsessed with Alfred Hitchcock, Bernard Herrmann, Ray Bradbury, Rod Serling, Jean Cocteau. As a child, I tried to build a time machine in my bedroom closet with a tiny chair and my favorite zebra lamp. I thought one could travel through the shadows. I just wanted to live in those worlds. I still do.

JT: When I wrote “Where Shadows Fall,” I wanted to capture that sultry, intoxicating feeling watching film noir. Being under the sway of chiaroscuro—the shadows— that rapturous, dangerous and melancholy place we can really only fully attain in our minds. “Night has fallen, and so have we/ But seduction deceives us eventually…”
(Great moody horns and even bass flute on that tune by the legendary Ralph Carney, and gorgeous percussion by Randy Odell.)

EM: What inspires you of late?

JT: I’ve been immersing myself in unusual locations to compose music. It’s exhilarating and challenging as the environment not only drives the work but becomes part of it. I had a piano love affair with the antique Steinways in the (supposedly haunted) 1890 Craigdarroch Castle in Victoria, BC; channeled music in an abandoned 1800s San Francisco medical asylum, and the eccentric Los Angeles mansion of a 19th century murderer. I created an ongoing after-dark series at the wondrous San Francisco Conservatory of Flowers where I hosted night tours of the gardens and then performed music and curated each evening on a different intriguing theme— like the strange history of perfumes, poisonous plants and the arsenic craze, spirits that supposedly lived in various woods of violins.

EM: Your music videos have been shot in some provocative locations.

JT: My music video for “Haunted by the Thought of You” was shot in the magnificent 1909 Masonic Lodge in San Francisco, full of secret crawlspaces, strange tiny doors, and painted backdrops of Hades.This is where the Freemasons held their mysterious rituals. There are some great secret symbols and codes hidden in the video.

(Shooting “Haunted by the Thought of You” in the devastatingly ornate 1909 Masonic Lodge)

EM: Dare I say, your work is very literate. Are you concerned that it might be too literate, so it’s bound to be marginalized?

JT: Industry executives have consistently told me over the years, “Your music is amazing, but it’s too elegant, too sophisticated, too dark, too poetic, too smart, too cinematic,…you need to dumb it down and sound like everyone else.” One A&R guy actually said to me: “Your music and aesthetic is the best, most original thing I’ve come across in years, it’s just that I’d lose my job if I signed you. But could you send about 10 more copies of your CD? Everyone in the office wants one. It’s all we’ve been listening to!” (I told him he was welcome to BUY them from my site.)

Another TV executive told me I could not use the words “books” or “history” in a series pitch. Another told me I could not use the term “noir” or “femme fatale” as no one knew what that meant! (“Use spooky and sexy.”) The entertainment industry doesn’t give audiences the credit they deserve. I’ve walked out of several meetings with famous companies.

EM: That took bravery, but sounds like you dodged a bullet.

JT: As a child I absolutely loved it when a song made me pull out the dictionary to look up a word. God, how many kids first heard about Nabokov by hearing the Police song “Don’t Stand So Close to Me?” People are hungry to be inspired, to heighten their awareness. I know it’s the same in the book world. You have crap selling millions, and there are wonderful, artistic novels that nobody hears about.

EM: Fifty Shades of Dung. For every literary talent that gets recognized, like Michael Chabon or Jonathan Franzen, there are thousands who never get published, let alone recognized. In that regard, the parallels between the music, art, and publishing businesses are identical. We’re all in the same boat. And frankly, I’ll bet Chabon and Franzen bitch about their sales, too.

JT: The only goal for the business is making money and moving units. It’s never had anything to do with how wonderful a piece of art is, or how unique.

EM: True, but it has gotten worse. Lots of the popular entertainment that’s come out of this culture was the best America had to offer. Music, movies, books that were wildly popular. Hemingway was a significant writer and a best-selling author. He wasn’t force-fed to the public. There used to be an overlap where what was valuable artistically also sold. Now that huge corporations dominate the culture, all they care about is making the numbers work for them. And the broadest common denominator is where they’re going to invest. Otherwise, good luck selling your book or song for 99¢ on the internet.

JT: It’s never been at a lower point in history. It’s mortifying.

EM: It’s intended to keep people in the dark, and uninformed. They make better consumers that way.

JT: Death by complacency. I don’t let it frustrate me like I used to. Now that the traditional industry is crumbling, I’m reimagining my path. There’s never been a more vital time for artists and fans to band together. We don’t have to play the old game anymore.

(Portrait of Jill Tracy by Audrey Penven)

EM: You’ve always celebrated the outlier approach. When you first started out, didn’t you mastermind your own show?

JT: Right. Jill Tracy’s Mysteria was an ongoing live series of not only my music and stories, but an entire dark carnival, with sword swallowers, contortionists, puppeteers and snake charmers—a complete sensory experience. This was around 1996-97. A dark variety show was practically unheard of at that time. I created Mysteria out of necessity because no club would book me. So I sold them the entire spectacle. Mysteria went on to packed houses, and an ardent following and press. I was nominated for 2 California Music Awards, SF Weekly Awards, Best of the Bay, 3 magazine covers.

So while the record companies were busy sending me rejection letters saying “there could not possibly be a market for my work,” I was busy making a living selling music on my website, charting on CD Baby’s Top-Sellers in piano pop, singer/songwriter, gothic, film score, neoclassical, acoustic, all simultaneously! (Laughs) The industry had no idea! I realized the system was broken way back then. I knew I couldn’t go in the front door, and not really the back door either … so I became intent on inventing TRAP doors.

EM: That’s great. I empathize with what you’re saying about stretching your boundaries, while staying true to yourself. You have to scout out those pockets of like-minded souls. That’s what we do with the NOIR CITY film festivals. The ones outside San Francisco aren’t jackpots, but we’re able to reach the exact audience that wants film noir on a big screen. But it’s no “mass market.” More and more these days, artists who want mainstream commercial success have to whore themselves for the corporation.

JT: Can there really a goal of “mainstream” success today for serious artists? If you’re trying to fit in with the crowd, pretty soon you will just become lost in it. You must not be afraid to own your niche. Embrace your strange. Major label album sales are at an all-time low. It can’t be just about vacuous pop culture and marketing to kids.

EM: When I was fifteen, I never wanted to listen to musicians who were my age.

JT: That’s so true. I’d hear Pink Floyd, Jimi Hendrix or Led Zeppelin, and it was this seductive, subversive thing. Everyone was older than you and you’re like, Wow, I can’t wait to experience the kind of life they’re singing about! That was the allure of that music. It represented what we aspired to, what we dreamed of. It was dangerous. That was the whole point. Today it’s all safe, homogenized and soulless. Created by corporations.

That’s why, sadly, art has less meaning in young people’s lives. When I was growing up, that’s how you bonded with someone. (Certainly if you were an outlier.) What bands do you listen to? What books are you reading? What are your favorite films?
Now, it’s what phone do you have? What apps? How many Facebook friends do you have?
Tech has become the barometer. It’s tragic.

JT: Everything has changed. It’s our lifeline. We’re able to bypass the old school commercial system and operate directly to fans. We did not have that choice before.
The hardest, but in the end, most liberating thing for me was to accept the fact that the childhood dream I once had—and struggled years to attain—simply doesn’t exist anymore. That is still a difficult revelation. But once I decided not to be held hostage by the old dream, the floodgates seemed to open.

EM: Do you resent how much effort it takes now to handle the business side, when what you want to be doing is creating art?

JT: Of course, but that’s the way it’s evolved. I’m running a business. I am the brand. I would much rather be focused on the creative. But there is a newfound freedom living this way, too. You learn to prioritize, delegate, and say no to things.

EM: With this ability to be connected all the time, is there a downside to the internet?

JT: I read an interesting study the other day talking about how if social media had been around in the last century, how many classic novels would actually have been written? Would many of the greats have merely sat around in cafes reading their Twitter feed?

EM: Imagine if all those great barroom writers were on Facebook instead of scrawling stuff into composition books.

JT: The Internet is a blessing and a curse. The ease and ability to obtain information and connect with anyone in the world is glorious. But at the same time it’s destroying our individuality. Everyone is getting their news/views from the same sources, not looking outside, or challenging themselves to think further. We’re trapped in a giant echo chamber.

There has never been a greater need to venture outside the cage, to seize our true passions and authenticity. To be an individual now takes a great deal of effort.
Sometimes I will post on Twitter—“No tweets today. Honoring the Mystery.”

EM: Your short film “The Fine Art of Poisoning” has become practically a cult classic, winning all sorts of awards and getting attention from the likes of Clive Barker and Guy Maddin. Any more film projects for you?

JT: I’m delighted and shocked when I hear from film school students who say “The Fine Art of Poisoning” was part of their curriculum! Animator Bill Domonkos is a genius. We went on to collaborate on NERVOUS96.
I’ve worked with the brilliant Jeremy Carr on 4 films now, including our new short “Portraits of a Nightmare” and well as his debut feature Other Madnesses, which has already won several awards. I’m eager to work on more films.

(Jill Tracy among the Hyrtl Skull Collection in the Mütter Museum, as featured in Penthouse. Photo by Evi Numen.)

EM: But my favorite part of all this is that you ended up in Penthouse…

JT: Ha! Yes, I can now say I have a spread in Penthouse. It was part of an interview about my work at the Mütter and my getting inspiration from the dark side of history. I was not nude, but way better—at a piano, in a black backless gown surrounded by 139 human skulls from Viennese anatomist Joseph Hyrtl’s 1874 collection. Who else could say that? My father even went to a newsstand to buy Penthouse that month —while my stepmother waited uncomfortably in the car. (Laughs)